


Crisis Management

by lunaseemoony



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Politician's Husband
Genre: Disasters, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an Earth-shattering disaster strikes London, Aiden is forced to share a hotel room with the Vitex heiress herself. But the disaster wasn't the only surprise he'd face that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crisis Management

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uploading fics from tumblr to complete collections

“No. Absolutely _not_ ,” Aiden roared at the desk. “That’s grossly inappropriate!”

The desk clerk’s feathers wouldn’t be ruffled by his temper. She cleared her throat, wiped her brow, and straightened in her chair. She addressed him as somebody would a fucking child. 

“ _Sir_ ,” she snarled, “this is a crisis. You understand what just happened out there right? Everyone’s suffering. I’ve got no home to go to. At least you and the other ‘elite’ get to stay in a hotel. Consider yourself lucky to have a proper bed, _sir_. Honestly half the men in Britain would -”

“Fine! Hand over the key then. I’ve got a lot of work tomorrow and I need rest.”

He was halfway to the stairs (nobody in London had electricity) when his tactlessness really bit him. He’d rather be the Deputy PM than the strained desk clerk at the hotel nearest Downing Street (or what was left of it for that matter). When everything was sorted, if that was possible, he ought to send her something nice. Taking his anger out on others was the old Aiden. 

He understood what the clerk meant when he opened his hotel room door. Understood, but didn’t believe it. Even in the darkness he could still make out the basic frame and features of Britain’s sweetheart, the Vitex heiress herself. Aiden dropped his bag on the floor and opened up his care package with the candles in it. 

“What good does it do you sitting here in the dark?” he chided as he lit a candle and set it on the nightstand next to her. “Oh. I’m sorry, should I go?”

Rose Tyler sat on the bed with tears glowing gold in the flickering light streaking her worn, pink face. She buried her shame in her knees when she caught sight of him. Sniffing, she waved her hand at him. 

“Do what you want. I don’t care.”

He did just that, plopping down on the bed in the corner, close enough to make her aware of it but not so much to alarm her or invade her space. “Did you lose someone?” 

She waggled her head against her legs and mumbled, “No.” 

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m horrible at this, you know. But I won’t sleep with a crying woman next to me. I don’t think anyone decent could.”

She chuffed and wiped her face on her arm. “You could fire me, you know. If I told you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you’ve ever worked with the PM you’d know I don’t have that kind of power… Not much more than a figurehead, me. Besides, I don’t even have connections to Vitex.” 

“I’m Torchwood.”

“Oh.” 

“It’s all my fault!”

“So you crashed and exploded that spaceship then? Are you an alien?” She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know the whole story. But that bit that was on the news, the aliens. I know that much. Not that I believe it for a second.”

“Believe it. Diplomacy failed. I trusted the wrong people.” 

“Again, were you flying that ship? Because if you weren’t, you can’t blame yourself.” He took a chance and scooted closer to her. “Look, you don’t have to believe me. But if you really are Torchwood then we’re going to need you to help clean up all of this. And you can’t do your job if you’re moping about it. I know that all too well.” 

It was no secret that Rose Tyler was beautiful. She was a goddess in a woman’s body. But even when her face was wrinkled, wet, and ripe, she still looked gorgeous. He wanted to take a flannel and wipe away the grief painting streaks down her cheeks. Beneath it was a woman that deeply cared for her people. The media was right, she had a way of entrancing people. He had the hardest time believing it was her fault. 

“Here,” he said after returning from the en suite with a warm, damp flannel.

“Thanks,” she chirped. 

“I think we both need some sleep.”

“I’m not gonna sleep like this,” she mumbled through the flannel.  

“No offense Ms Tyler, but you look like death warmed over. Sleep will do you good. I wasn’t kidding when I said we’ll need you in the morning. I can take the floor.”

Rose peeled back the covers and set the flannel down on the nightstand a ways from the flickering candle. “No, it’s okay. You just stay over there and we’ll be fine. Your job’s important too.”

Aiden blew out the candle and settled in after Rose calmed down. He tried lulling himself with her even breathing. But just having a sleeping woman next to him him in bed, the most gorgeous woman in Britain mind you, had the opposite effect. He barely slept a wink that night, holding vigil as his eyes attempted to bore holes in the ceiling. But it was the first few peaceful hours he’d had all day. And it wasn’t at all a loss. They worked closely together the next day, sharing the strangest bond that started in that bed. He had assistants, but it was Rose that brought him coffee. A week later when London was on the mend and their work together was through she left him her number.


End file.
